Chasing Stanley (20 page)

“Can you tell me where?”

Her mother squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”

This was worse than Delilah thought. “Who told you?” she gently pressed. “Can you remember that?”

“I found out this morning when I opened the newspaper!” Mitzi wailed.

“Oh, Mommy.” Pain mingled with anger. For her mother to find out from
Newsday
. . . it was awful, just awful.

“It was the last thing I ever expected to see,” her mother continued in a disembodied voice. “There was no warning, no nothing.”

As delicately as she could, Delilah reached across the bed for the newspaper lying facedown on the pearl comforter. She herself was finding it hard to think straight. Did Brandi know that her father was supposed to be buried within twenty-four hours of his death?

Queasiness creeping up her throat, Delilah made herself look down at the paper. There was a headline that read: “ ‘Mattress Maven' Sy Gould To Say ‘I Do' to Model Brandi Rose.” Delilah stared at the boldface type for a long time. She stared until the letters ran together in one black, rushing torrent of fury. Then she began to yell.

“This is the emergency you made me
schlep
out to Long Island for?! This?!”

“Leelee—”

“I thought Dad was dead! I thought something awful had happened to you!”

“Something awful did happen to me!” her mother insisted, picking up the paper and rattling it in Delilah's face. “The rat bastard is going to marry that stupid
shiksa
! You don't think that's an emergency?!”

Delilah clutched her head in despair. “You divorced him, remember?! You have no right to be upset!”

“You're wrong. This”—she poked repeatedly at the engagement announcement with her finger—“is against the rules. He wants to
shtupp
some bimbo? Fine. But remarry? Jeopardize my baby girl's inheritance? No. That is not fine.”

“Oh, so this is about me?” Delilah chortled. “You're upset on
my
behalf?”

Mitzi nodded.

“That's the biggest bunch of bull I've ever heard!”

“Don't you care that she could rob you of your mattress millions?!”

“No! What I care about is that my own mother doesn't think twice about interrupting my life for no good reason and manipulating me into coming out here!”

“You don't understand.”

“No, I don't. If you still love Dad, then cut out the melodrama and just tell him.”

Mitzi stuck her nose up in the air. “I can't live with that man.”

“Then don't! Maintain separate residences and get together when you want to screw! Do whatever! Just keep me out of it!”

Mitzi pressed her back against the white wicker head-board. “You're angry.”

“You missed your calling, Mom. You should have been a brain surgeon.”

Mitzi narrowed her eyes. “Who answered the phone when I called this morning?”

“Marcus.” Delilah suddenly felt claustrophobic. “Look, I have to go.”

“One minute.” She grabbed hold of Delilah's hand before she could rise from the bed. “How's that adorable blond boyfriend of yours?”

“What?” Delilah squinted at her mother in confusion. She thought,
Jason's not blond.
Then she remembered:
Eric.
“He's fine,” Delilah answered distractedly.

“You look tired.”

“I was up all night having sex.”

“Don't be rude, Delilah.”

“Oh, it's all right for you to tell me about Lance or Bruce or whoever it is you're seeing just for kicks—”

“It's Bruce, thank you very much, and for your information he left me for Myra Talman—”

“—but when I say it in the context of an actual relationship, it's rude.”

Mitzi wagged a finger under Delilah's nose. “Men don't buy the cow when they can get the milk for free. Remember that, Leelee.”

“Quotes from Chairman Mitzi. How could I forget?” She stood up.

“You're not really going, are you?” Mitzi asked in alarm.

“Yes, I really am.”

She clutched at Delilah's arm. “I don't think I can be alone right now. Please.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Delilah shook her off. “But you don't really have a choice. And if you ever pull another stunt like this, I will never speak to you again.”

 

 

“Check it out:
major tail at ten o'clock.”

Jason turned discreetly to see what his former teammate, Guillaume, was murmuring about. Though road trips were a pain in the ass, Jason had been looking forward to returning to Minneapolis as a Blade. Not only did the Blades kick the Mosquitoes' asses out on the ice in a 4-2 victory, but it also gave Jason a chance to hang with his old friend.

They were sitting at a table at Harvey's, the Mosquitoes' usual hangout. The place was crawling with puck bunnies. Once upon a time Jason might have considered inviting the two women Guillaume was slobbering over to the table. But not now.

Jason turned back to his friend, whom he'd known since they were both in the minors. “They're okay.”

“Okay?”
Guillaume's eyes doubled in size. “They're grade A prime beef, my man.”

Jason shrugged. “I'm not interested.”

“Is your dick broken?”

“No.”
Jason sipped his beer. “I'm kinda seeing someone,” he confessed.

Guillaume looked horrified. “What are you, nuts? You just got there! Why are you tying yourself down?”

It was a good question, one that Jason had been trying to avoid thinking about. He'd been so pumped after making love with Delilah. Everything was coming together: his career, his personal life—he felt invincible. But then came Delilah's comment about holing up at home with her dogs, and suddenly things seemed a little less exhilarating. She couldn't be serious, could she? She'd gone to the dog show with him. Clearly she could get away when she really wanted to.

He was about to admit his doubts to Guillaume when the image of Delilah waking up popped into his mind, and he experienced a warm fuzzy feeling bordering on the mawkish. They'd work things out. They would.

Jason finished his Stella Artois and ordered another. “She's special,” he told Guillaume.

“What does she do?”

“Trains dogs.”

Guillaume looked impressed. “Has she managed to tame Stan the Man?”

“Oh yeah.” He found himself wondering what the two of them were doing right now. Stan was probably sleeping. Or trying repeatedly to hop up on the couch. As for Delilah, he'd left her a couple of messages trying to find out what the story was with her mom, but she'd yet to get back to him. It worried him. He hated the idea of her having to go through a crisis alone.

“What does she look like?” Guillaume asked.

Like an angel,
Jason thought, thankful he hadn't said so aloud. “She's pretty. Petite.”

“Got a picture?” Guillaume asked, his gaze still tracking the women he'd tried to get Jason interested in.

Jason shook his head. “Not yet.” He'd make it a priority as soon as he got back to New York. He'd just bought himself the most expensive digital camera he could find to play with.

“Good body?” Guillaume continued.

“Really great.” Jason wasn't sure why, but for the first time ever it felt intrusive discussing a girlfriend like this. Maybe it was because he knew Delilah would be upset if she knew she was being talked about this way. Or maybe it was because she was the first woman he'd ever started dating that he felt so strongly about. Whatever it was, he didn't care to parse Delilah's physical attributes like she was some heifer being assessed for purchase.

Guillaume nodded thoughtfully. “I'd like to meet her sometime.”

“You will, the next time the Mosquitoes come to New York to get their asses kicked.” He checked his watch. “Shit, I better take off if I want to make curfew.”

Jason turned to see three more of his old teammates heading for the table. He checked his watch again. Screw it. He could probably squeeze in one more brew and still make it back to the hotel in time if he hustled. Who knew when he'd next get to hang with his pals again? He waved them over and ordered another beer.

 

 

“You're late.”

Jason's heart jolted to an abrupt stop as Ty's voice rang out across the hotel lobby. It was twenty-five minutes past midnight. Jason couldn't believe the hard-ass was going to give him a hard time about a piddling half an hour.

Busted, Jason stopped, waiting for the dressing down he knew was to follow. One look at his coach's face told him he was in deep shit. Ty was in full glare mode, his brown eyes gleaming like a feral animal's. When Ty looked like that, it was scary.

“Where ya been, Mitchell?”

Jason scratched nervously behind his ear. “I was, uh, meeting some old friends for a beer.”

“I see. Do these old friends play for the greatest hockey team in the NHL?”

“No, Coach.”

“But you do, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Ty stepped so close to Jason he could smell his breath: peppermint. “What time is curfew, Mitchell?”

“Midnight.”

“Take a look at that pretty little Rolex you're wearing and tell me what time it is now.”

Jason looked down at his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes past midnight.”

“You can tell time; I'm impressed.” Ty rubbed his chin. “Let's see if you can guess what I'm thinking right now.”

Jason fought a flinch of humiliation. “You're thinking that I'm stupid. Or impulsive. Or both.”

Ty nodded. “Not bad. Maybe you can make your living as a mind reader after you get kicked off the team.” He folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head. “What the fuck am I going to do with you, Mitchell?”

“With all due respect, Coach, it was only twenty-five minutes.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Whatever crumb of mercy Ty might have offered he had just snatched back as a result of Jason's stupidity. Jason tried not to stare at the vein pulsing wildly on Ty's forehead.

“How about I bench you for twenty-five games?” Ty proposed. “Would you like that?”

Jason's gaze darted away. “No.”

“Why not? It's only twenty-five games.”

“I see your point, Coach.”

“I'm not sure you do.” Ty was so close now his nose was practically touching Jason's. “Rules are created for a reason. Contrary to what you're thinking, I don't just pull them out of my ass to make your life difficult. When I make a rule, it's to ensure maximum performance from my players. And when my players follow my rules, it tells me two things: one is that they understand who's in charge. The second is that they're willing to do what it takes to win. I'm not sure you give a shit on either count.”

“I—”

“Don't interrupt me when I'm talking, Mitchell.”

Jason slumped. “Sorry.”

“Since I'm such a great guy, I'm only going to fine you a thousand bucks. Creep in past curfew again, and it'll be double. Fuck up a third time, and you're gonna be benched through Christmas. Are we clear?”

Jason's voice was strained. “Totally, Coach.”

“Good.” Ty stepped back. “Now get your ass upstairs.”

“Hey! How're my
two favorite—beings?”

Delilah smiled as Jason stepped over the threshold of her apartment to give her a long, lingering kiss before crouching to pet Stanley.

“Is he okay?” Jason asked uneasily as he stared deeply into Stanley's eyes. “He seems kind of out of it.”

“He's been a little under the weather. Sit down a minute, and we'll talk.”

Jason headed for the couch while Delilah hung up his coat and pushed his luggage away from the door. “No more emergency calls from your mother, I hope.”

“I'm really sorry about that,” Delilah said as she sat down next to him.

Jason looked concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Delilah sighed. “Everything's fine. My mother's a total drama queen. She saw my father's engagement announcement in the paper and had a complete meltdown. Apparently, she couldn't convey this to Marcus over the phone. I had to
schlep
out there so I could see the full performance.”

Jason smiled in sympathy at how crazy parents could be. “Okay, so what's up with Stan?”

“Have you been feeding him a different kind of dog food?”

“No.”

“New treats?”

Jason stared at her blankly. “Don't think so.”

“Hmm.” Delilah hated asking the next question, because she knew the answer would be upsetting, but she had no choice. “Have you been letting him eat table scraps?”

The quickness with which Jason averted his gaze gave her the answer. “Sometimes.”

“Jason! You shouldn't do that! What did you give him?”

Jason glanced guiltily at Stan. “I don't know. Some Cheetos, I think. The last piece of pizza in the fridge.”

“The Cheetos would explain the bright orange vomit. He also had very loose stools. Did you feed him table scraps when you two were living in Minnesota?”

“Sometimes,” Jason muttered.

“And would he get sick?”

“Sometimes.”

Delilah was incredulous. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“Because I didn't think it mattered.”